The Theory of Absolutes
by opheliacs
Summary: Monsters were not confined to fairy tales. They weren't even confined to the underworld of Mitras. (Or: moments of legalistic brilliance, misadventures in the criminal underworld, tragic backstories, the world's slowest burn, and that one AU where everyone is a lawyer.)
1. Levi

Some things you should know beforehand: this story contains graphic depictions of violence, mentions of rape, murder, serial killers, and general depictions of the criminal underworld. It also contains things like Levi in glasses, courtrooms, legalistic brilliance, switching (and thus sex), and a slow build.

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><p>It was June, and that meant two things: law school graduations and certifications, and, as a matter of course, a new crop of over-eager and under-experienced newly minted lawyers would invade Levi Ackerman's firm. At least 75 percent of them would quit before September, but those three months of doe-eyed baby lawyers filled with righteous anger all hankering for his attention and approval was more than enough for him. His position as chief partner (and Erwin's position as fucking useless for this type of thing) necessitated Levi greeting the new recruits, which is how he found himself on the hottest day of the year in a three-piece suit pretending like he was happy about the four visibly anxious people in front of him.<p>

"Try to go easy on them," Erwin had begged the day before. "They're young, not monsters."

"I'm not cold because they're young, I'm cold because they're stupid and think life is a marathon of Law and Order, or worse, Criminal Minds," Levi has said dismissively.

"Oh, come on, that only happened _one time_. Just be nice."

"Tch. It weeds out the weak. And if I were nice to them, what a shock it'll be when they find out what I'm like."

And that was why Erwin no longer welcomed the new recruits: he was too nice. Erwin was an unfortunate characteristic of _kind_ (he gave genuine compliments) and _nice_ (but he'd give you a disingenuous one if he thought you needed it). Levi was neither nice nor particularly kind. After the disastrous summer of 2011 when all six new recruits were positive they were guaranteed a spot, none of them got it, and one of them tried to burn down the firm, Levi designated himself the giver of the welcome speech, even if he would rather slowly break each knuckle of his fingers.

He observed the recruits through half-hooded eyes, nicknaming them as he went. Coconut Head _(aren't you a little too old for bowl cuts?_) was clenching and unclenching his hands and trying (and failing spectacularly) to maintain eye contact. Red Scarf (_seriously, who the fuck wears a scarf in the middle of summer?_) was staring ahead at a spot somewhere over Levi's head, seemingly detached. Hawk Nose's face kept shifting, as though she was trying to overcome what was obviously a very strong case of Resting Bitch Face. She was running her hands up and down her arms slowly, as if cold. The last, Bright Eyes, was the only one successfully making steady eye contact, though his hands were so tightly balled at the sides Levi imagined he could hear the sound of the boy's knuckles creaking. Levi raised an eyebrow in surprise and cleared his throat.

The effect was instantaneous. Although the group had hardly been sloppy before, they snapped as if shocked. "Ah, well," Levi started, "I suppose I should congratulate you. You've been told that by being here right after passing the bar, you're the best of the best, et cetera. I suppose that's true, but I think in the coming weeks you'll be asking yourselves exactly what standards were used to define your greatness."

Coconut Head looked vaguely confused. Red Scarf deigned to make actual eye contact now, and Levi was startled by the grayness of her eyes. Hawk Nose had opted for crossing her arms and raising her eyebrows—Levi wasn't sure whether she was trying to feign disinterest or profound interest. Bright Eyes was so tightly wound that he was beginning to remind Levi of a racehorse. Having gathered his impressions, he continued.

"This is the real world. I'm well aware of the experience you already have, but there are no do-overs here. When you work on a case, it affects real people—it's not a simulation, or a clinic, or a carefully selected case your professors are assigning you where you're guaranteed a win. That means one thing: have no regrets. You might not always win. You might defend someone you know is guilty or prosecute someone you're sure is innocent. Make your decisions and stand by them. Trust your fellow lawyers and clerks, but trust yourself most of all. Hesitancy is weakness. Weakness puts innocent people in jail and lets guilty ones walk free. Oh, and one more thing—I don't really have to tell you that you're starting out clerking, do I?"

Evidently he did. The women's postures didn't move, but Coconut Head's face visibly deflated, and Bright Eyes looked horribly affronted. Levi imagined he heard the gritting of teeth.

"Follow Petra, and she'll set you up with desks and get you set up for direct deposits with your banks. Tomorrow Erwin and I will give you assignments—" _because this is my day off and I'm already doing far more than I really want to_, he didn't add. The group continued to gawk at him, frozen like a tableau. He rolled his eyes. "What are you, deaf? Dismissed." A_nd get the hell out of my office_.

They jumped, but managed to avoid actually breaking into a run as they followed Petra down the hall. Levi leaned back in his chair and sighed, scrubbing at his face. He wasn't convinced the air conditioning was working, but he had too much pride to take off his jacket. Some distant part of his brain vibrated as he noted the locked top drawer of his desk, but he was in no mood to start something only to be interrupted. He closed his eyes. He heard a thunk and a loud buzzing as a cicada bounced off the window. His office was too high above traffic for the sound to travel, but the trees outside harbored every kind of wildlife and he'd already replaced the windows several times due to various incidents. The worst were the cicadas. The drone burrowed into Levi's mind, simultaneously lulling him into unproductivity and making him grit his teeth with keyed-up nerves. He idly thought of what it would take to get Erwin to switch offices with him when Petra knocked quietly and came in without waiting for an answer.

"Well, what's the verdict?" she asked, sitting on the opposite side of his desk and slipping her shoes off.

Levi heard them hit the floor and fought the urge to scowl at her. "Well, let's see. 75 percent down from four means there can only be one, or there's likely only going to be one." He ran his thumb over his upper lip in thought. "Hawk Nose"— "Levi, you're _horrible_"— "looked bored as hell, so she's probably out. Coconut Head"— "_Levi_"— "is out because he looks like he might shit himself if he needed to pay someone a visit at the jail. Red Scarf is out because I get the feeling that entry-level positions are beneath her, so I'm thinking she'll quit." He tilted back. "That leaves Bright Eyes."

Petra shook her head. "Amazing," she said weakly. "I would be appalled if you weren't almost always right. So what is it about him? Eren Jaeger?"

Levi raised his eyebrows. He didn't bother to learn names until he could be sure who would make the cut. "He's the only one who kept eye contact with me the whole time."

Petra groaned. "You are beyond all hope or help."

Levi shrugged. "I guess we'll see."

Petra left him in silence to go do whatever it was that she did to keep this place running. Levi never questioned her methods; he just paid reverence to them (and an appalling amount of money to her). The top drawer of Levi's desk screamed for his attention. His fingers twitched in indecision and he settled into a decidedly annoyed frame of mind. Days off were supposed to be _sacred_, and it wasn't Levi's fault that Erwin was in court today, but he was already here and had already fished the key out of his pocket before he realized what he was doing. He spread the docket out in front of him and popped his knuckles absently.

The facts: Mina Carolina, nineteen, deceased around January 2. Prior to time of death, brutally raped in a manner that resulted in extensive internal trauma. Cause of death was a cut to the throat that was clean with a surgical precision. Postmortem the body was dismembered in a manner consistent with medical knowledge or training. For seven days a different part of the body was found in a different place in Mitras. The body was wiped clean of prints or fluids of any kind, including the victim's. Given up by the police as a runaway despite no prior history or inclination to run away, which delayed a search until three days after disappearance.

The peculiarity: the killer left a cipher with each body part that, when cracked, revealed where the next part would be. Despite being able to determine approximately when and where each body part would turn up and despite exhaustive police presence, not a single eyewitness or surveillance camera caught the delivery man. The parts simply _appeared_. The last body part came with its own cipher, as yet unsolved.

The accused: Bertholdt Hoover, twenty-one. From a rough area of Mitras, he showed average scholastic aptitude but extraordinary athletic talent and received a scholarship to the University of St. Sina. Reportedly enamored with Ms. Carolina, he supposedly "went off the rail," so to speak, when she refused his attentions. Testimony from Mr. Hoover's roommate, one Reiner Braun, disputed this and alleged he and the accused have been in a monogamous relationship for more than two years, with Ms. Carolina merely a good friend. Unfortunately, there were two rather obvious problems: both Mr. Braun and Mr. Hoover were closeted and hadn't disclosed their relationship to even their closest friends, and it was rather difficult to come up with reasonable excuses for Mr. Hoover to have in his possession several medical-grade scalpels and Ms. Carolina's blood-spattered skirt.

The supposition: Levi would willingly stake his certification on the fact that he knows who the killer was. He would also stake his certification on the fact that he had no idea how to find said killer.

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose firmly, hoping to stave off a headache before it arrived. _You're getting sloppy_, he thought critically, though he was unsure whether he was talking to himself or to the (real) killer. He squinted at his to-do list, and the voice of conscience in his head that sounded oddly like Petra barked at him to stop pretending he didn't need glasses. He reached for the phone and dialed a number he knew by heart with one hand.

"Do I have the pleasure of addressing Captain America, or Short Stack?" asked an overly cheerful voice.

"You'll have the pleasure of addressing my foot up your ass, Shitty Glasses," Levi deadpanned, and Hanji gave a delighted laugh in response. Their telephone exchange rarely deviated. "_Especially_ if you don't have good news for me," he warned.

The beat Hanji missed was sufficient answer. "Levi…we're really trying, but holy shit and all the saints, whoever wrote this is like, _light-years_ ahead of the intelligence of mere mortals. Is there a greater unit of measurement than light-years? There should be, just for this. I mean, I like to consider myself the master of all challenges and I'm damn near killing myself over it. Mike's been drinking so much coffee that you can like, smell it coming out of his pores. It's gross. And impressive."

"_Hanji_," Levi interrupted, before the conversation found itself to discussing the digestive systems of two-tailed unicorns. "When have you ever considered yourself a mere mortal?"

"Oh…" Levi could imagine Hanji's wicked grin. "Your unwavering faith in me is a boost as always, Short Stuff."

"Have you tried approaching it as if it were written to translate into another language?" he steamrolled.

"What are you thinking?"

""Something obscure enough that Rosetta Stone hasn't bothered with it."

"You got a guess?"

"Take with a grain of salt, because it's an incredibly wild one with no merit, but try things a classics student would use. Fuck, I don't know…" he trailed off, desperately trying to recall the names to mind. "Koine Greek, probably not Latin except for the most ancient forms…Aramaic, maybe?"

Hanji was ominously quiet. "Levi…what do you know?"

He let out a long sigh through his teeth. "Nothing yet, I swear on my cleaning supplies. Just trust me on this."

"I always do." Predictably, Hanji hung up without saying goodbye.

Levi scratched out that particular item on his list and squinted at the clock. If he left now, he'd have time to change before taking care of the next thing—no way was he wearing his second-best suit where he needed to go.

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><p>Welcome to my winter project!<p>

1. It's not as dark as the tags would have you believe.  
>2. This will be based off the American legal system because I write what I know. And if you really wanna know, the train system in Mitras is based off the L in Chicago because again, I write what I know.<br>3. Chapter titles will denote the narrator, but I'm about 99 percent sure there will only be two narrators.

Come say hey/scream at me on tumblr: .com


	2. Levi (2)

In which Levi visits the underworld, insults a bartender, and practices poor parenting.

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><p>The wind whipped grit from the streets through the ragged hole in the window of the train. With tremendous effort, Levi suppressed a shudder and edged further away from the hole. The electric click-click of the tracks bored into his mind in the same way all repetitive noises did, but he managed to keep his jaw clenched at a level that would hopefully not result in a headache. He slumped in his seat and pulled the beanie further down on his head. He wondered what Erwin would think of him now. Part of the reason he wore what Erwin considered to be offensively expensive suits was to remove himself as far as possible from where he'd come. But even after all this time, he slipped into the part effortlessly, at least in costume. He was less sure of his ability to not sound like a stiff.<p>

He observed the train compartment with a practiced languidness as the train lurched around an alarmingly sharp curve and clattered into the station. The only other people in the compartment were a gum-chewing teenager blaring pop from her headphones and a businessman wearing handmade Italian loafers. Levi scoffed in his throat. Good taste, but exceptionally poor choice of footwear for this part of town. Still, it never hurt to be too careful, and Levi edged a little further over til he took up the majority of the row. He was in no mood for small talk with strangers or risking hepatitis on the broken glass of the window. Raising his eyes to the map of the rail lines posted near the door, he mentally counted the number of stops left til the end of the line. _What a stereotype_, he thought.

He mentally recounted what he knew. He was only covering the Carolina case because it was the only one with a suspect, but there had been half a dozen other dismembered bodies found in the city over the past few months, and if he wasn't mistaken, the average time between bodies was dropping. Precipitously. Due to the widespread coverage in sordid papers—and the fact that the Carolina case was the first one—everyone assumed the others were a copycat and probably done by the same person. Levi wished he could be so ignorant.

The distance between stops got longer and longer. Levi had always thought this was a strategic city planning move—if you remove the methods by which people could move out of bad neighborhoods, you would never have to worry about the dreaded lower class moving into your pristine neighborhoods. If people felt like they were trapped, they would give up. And so it went. Levi did not burn with righteous anger, which, he contended, might be hypocritical of him, given his background. He was good at picking battles that he was likely to win, and he was somewhat likelier to take down the drug kings and pimps in the criminal underworld than dismantle capitalism.

The train lurched to a halt at the last stop and he rose, stomping down the steps of the station in shitty Chuck Taylors. He supposed he was lucky he looked like a perennial teenager; even if he ran into trouble, people seldom fucked with kids. He jammed his fists into the front pockets of his rattiest jeans and counted his steps. Pass two alleyways. Duck into the third on the left. Go into the passageway to the right of the second door, down the stairs, right at the landing. From there he made a complicated series of twists and turns until he found himself in mankind's stupidest invention: a literal criminal underground city.

To be fair, it wasn't intended to be that way. It was essentially a belowground replica of the city above in case of nuclear attack, bee apocalypse, the sun exploding, or whatever conscionable reason there could be for needing to evacuate an entire city underground. Eventually the economics of maintaining two cities because unfeasible, and it was abandoned, taken over by the lowest socioeconomic class imaginable, and the city officials nearly dislocated their shoulders patting themselves on the back for the brilliance of socially engineering an abandoned city to "contain" both crime as well as poor people—though, to much of the city, the two were the same.

First-time visitors to the underground city might be equal parts horrified and impressed. Certain people took a bizarre pride in what little they had and kept it looking as nice as possible. Despite what the newspapers would lead people to believe, it was not simply a den of iniquity—it was still a functional part of the city, albeit with significantly more illicit activity. People lived, people died. People made a living. One shop had inlaid glittering pieces of multicolored glass around the window in a nice touch of brightness in the subterranean murk. But no amount of cheap paint and scavenged niceness could erase the dilapidation of sagging eaves, barred windows, and the more-than-occasional child or drunk slumped in doorways. Gangs reigned through extortion, intimidation, and a burgeoning assassination trade, and prostitutes popped up on street corners like daisies.

But Levi had always been remarkably good at ignoring things like this.

He headed for the Tortured Rose, which was easily identifiable by the sign hanging from the tattered rafters of the awning—a hand-painted slab of wood with an unrealistically busty redheaded woman chained to the bowsprit of an old ship, tears running down her face. It was actually an impeccably well painted sign. Such a shame for it to be for such a trashy purpose. The already dim light of the underworld seemed like a supernova compared to the dungeonlike atmosphere of the bar. The humidity made Levi's hair stand up. The bar was only half full, and the bartender was sampling shots from a new crate of whiskey he was seemingly unpacking. He had an undercut even more severe (and in Levi's opinion, stupid-looking) than Levi's own, and the look on his horsey face could only be described as profound disinterest. "The fuck you want?" he called out.

Levi sneered. "Double whiskey on the rocks, horseman."

The bartender's eyebrows shot up for a millisecond, appraising Levi. He shrugged, wiped his hand on his shirt, and stuck it out. "Name's Auruo."

A voice in the back of Levi's mind screamed hysterically as he shook the stranger's grimy hand. With colossal effort he didn't shudder or immediately run to the bathroom, though he could feel his skin crawling. "Dean," he lied smoothly.

"You want home brew or top shelf?"

"Top shelf."

Auruo chucked. "Kid with class. I like that."

Levi grimaced internally. Then again, the bartender looked significantly older than Levi—maybe he was a kid by comparison.

"You new here?" Auruo asked, sliding the whiskey towards Levi. The tumbler was passably clean. Levi made a noncommittal hum that could mean anything. "I'm kind of new myself…came from Karanese because my brother said the money was good. He, uh, forgot to tell me that this is a den of thieves."

_That would explain the excessive chattiness_, Levi thought speculatively. Natural-bred residents of the underworld would never talk so freely to a stranger. This could only work out well for him. "It's not so bad," Levi murmured into his drink.

Auruo snorted. "I left the countryside for this."

Levi shrugged. "Yeah, but you can do whatever the hell you want and nobody'll care."

"Ah, that's just the sort of thing a kid would say," the bartender said, rubbing at the fuzz of his undercut.

_I am thirty-four goddamn years old, _Levi wanted to cry. He was just as sensitive about his real age as he was about not looking like it. It was a ridiculous catch-22 and he knew it. "Heard there's a killer upstairs," he remarked, tracing the edge of his glass with the tip of his finger. "Guess it's better to stay down here."

Auruo's eyes crinkled in thought, an activity that seemed like it might be dangerous for him. "I don't know anything about that…hey, Marco!" he roared suddenly. "Get out here!"

The sound of half a dozen boxes cascading to the floor preceded a lanky, freckled teenager with an apologetic smile that could have birthed angels. "Sorry, sir! I'm almost done in the back—"

"Tell this kid what you heard about the killer upstairs," Auruo cut in.

"Oh, _that,_" the kid shuddered delicately. Levi watched him carefully. He could tell from the kid's mannerisms and accent that he came from aboveground—by the sounds of it, a rather nice neighborhood. He'd love to ask the kid why he'd voluntarily come down here to work. "They found another last week that they think is the same guy. Well—I hope it's a guy. Wouldn't it be awful if it were a girl? I'd hate to think a girl could do something so terrible."

Levi smiled darkly into the palm of his hand.

"Anyway, I heard one of my friends say this same sort of thing happened about ten years ago, bodies turning up in pieces in different places. The papers all called the killer The Ripper, but they never found him. Hey," Marco said, a worried look in his eyes. "You don't think it's the same person, do you?"

Levi shrugged. "Probably not." _Of fucking course they're the same, you dolt._ He was wasting his time. When dinosaurs still roamed the cooling earth, the Tortured Rose was the best place to find whatever a person needed, but he wasn't wasting the rest of his evening on a country rube bartender and fresh-faced box boy. Still— "My brother's looking for a guy named Hannes. You know him?"

Marco shook his head, but Auruo had a surprisingly contemplative look. "Hannes…Hannes the guy with the tattoo shop? Haven't seen him in a while, heard the shop closed because he hadn't shown up for work. You might wanna try swinging by there, though."

_Good enough._ Levi slapped five dollars on the bar. "Thanks." He hopped down from the stool and blended in with the darkness of the bar, slipping silently back into the street. He narrowly avoided a fresh puddle of vomit and glared reproachfully at the passed-out man lying precariously close to the puddle. Fucking drunks didn't even have the decency to puke in an alleyway anymore, apparently. He whipped the beanie off his head and scratched at his sweaty hair irritably. _I bet a bottle of scotch that the bastard's already dead, _he bet himself sardonically. A rustle from the alleyway startled him, and he spun, catching a pair of shiny eyes in the dim light. A kid watched him carefully. "Oi, kid," Levi said, with only half the normal level of irritation.

"I have a name," the boy said peevishly.

Levi rolled his eyes. "Whatever, fine. Can you tell me how to get someplace?"

"It's Sammy."

"Great, fine, and I'm the damn Easter Bunny." he snapped.

The kid's eyes widened comically. "Mom says you're not supposed to swear, it isn't nice."

"_I'm_ not nice," he said emphatically. "Why the hell am I arguing with a five year old?"

"I'm six and a half!" Sammy stamped his foot. "Wait…" a lightbulb seemed to go off in his head. "You swore."

"Yeah," Levi deadpanned.

"And, like…you _didn't _get sent straight to you-know-where," the kid's voice dropped in an ominous whisper.

Levi snorted so hard it hurt. "_That's _what your mom told you? Listen, kid, nothing happens to you if you swear."

"Really?" The kid looked like he'd been handed an especially large Christmas present.

"Well, your mom might wash your mouth out with soap. So maybe don't do it in front of her. But no, a portal to hell isn't going to open up just because you swear." _I am corrupting a small child._ "Look, task at hand. Directions. I'll pay you."

"Ten dollars," Sammy said quickly, sticking out a grubby palm.

"Five, unless you're going to personally take me there, you brat."

Sammy bounced from foot to foot. "Mom says I'm not allowed out at night, there's bad stuff out there. I'm only out here to dump out the trash."

"Sounds like you'll be getting five dollars, then," Levi replied dryly. "Garrison Body Art."

"Right on Ripley, left on Bellinger, it has a big ugly sign, can't miss it. Five dollars, _please,_" the brat said snarkily.

Levi glared at him and handed him the bill. The kid vanished faster than he would have thought possible. He felt like an idiot that it was only a handful of turns, but it wasn't as if he frequented the area often. He walked at a fast clip and ignored the mewling catcalls of pimps and prostitutes. Sure enough, the Garrison was shuttered, with KEEP OUT barely visible among all the graffiti on the plyboards. He slunk around to the back door and glanced at the lock. He wasn't sure if Hannes would even remember him, was even less sure if forcing the lock was worth it, but he hadn't come all the way down here to shoot the shit over terrible whiskey with two strangers. He sized up the lock and broke the fixture with a well-aimed kick.

The interior of the shop hadn't quite been ransacked, but Hannes had clearly left in a hurry. Levi waded through a catastrophe of paperwork and spilled ink. There wasn't a single surface in the room he trusted to sit on and he was pretty sure he wouldn't find what he needed in a hurry. He reached for the gloves in his back pocket. They weren't as thick or impenetrable as he'd like, but would do the job of preventing prints. Amazingly, the open register still had all its money, and Levi took about five seconds to think before pocketing it. He'd turn it into the police in the morning. Probably at least some of it was counterfeit, and he sure as hell didn't need it, but he wasn't going to leave it here to contribute to the illicit activities he diligently prosecuted during daylight hours. The shop would be easy pickings now that he'd ripped the lock off the door. He rummaged through a cubby, and through a mess of rolls of paper for the register and spare pens his fingertips found a ledger with a leather cover. The Hannes of his youth had been just this side of demented in his forgetfulness and once openly admitted to having written down every password and username he needed for absolutely everything in his life. Levi could only hope that the Hannes of the hopefully-not-terribly-distant past was the same.

Levi flipped through the ledger with sharp eyes. Its structure of inventory made it easier for anything odd to stick out. About a third of the way through the book, the clean lines of stock were broken up by a single sentence written in a cramped hand: _49 30 2 black tin. Fantastic. A damn scavenger hunt, _he thought irritably. He looked around the room for a place where one might keep a safe and desperately hoped it wasn't in the clichéd niche behind a painting.

It was.

Rather, it was actually a small lockbox behind an appallingly tacky painted wooden scroll of a half-naked Asian girl. He spun the dial and pried open the lid, finding a bag of what was probably cocaine, an old breath mint tin, and a faded picture of a smiling woman in a floral dress standing outside a lighthouse. _What the fuck, Hannes. _He opened the tin, hoping it contained whatever it was he thought he was looking for. It had a spare key that Levi assumed went to the locked drawer to the left of the register. Levi really had no clear objective when he came in here, but he was beginning to think he wouldn't mind finding the lost treasure of Shangri-La for his troubles. The locked drawer had a scrap of paper covered in a language Levi couldn't read, but he was pretty sure it was incomplete. It had been hastily torn out of a notebook and was covered in blots and gouges—clearly whoever had written it had been horribly anxious. He squinted at it and moved it alternately closer and further away from his eyes until he could focus adequately. The Petra of his conscience fussed at him. Telescoping the scrap of paper made it no more intelligible than it had been, but he stuck it in his wallet anyway.

It was better than nothing, after all.

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><p>Literally I do not know if this is good anymore or if life is even real because it's 5:30 in the morning, but thank you for all the hitsfaves/follows, y'all are a gift xoxo


	3. Eren

Eren learns what spending $97,000 on law school will get you, talks classic rock, and resolves to ruin Levi's Monday.

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><p>There were two things Eren learned in his first two weeks at Smith &amp; Ackerman: people were even fucking stupider than he had imagined, and Erwin was a lot nicer than Levi.<p>

Erwin took Annie and Armin under his wing, while he and Mikasa got stuck with ("got the privilege to work for") Levi. There were some things Eren had learned there, too. Part of what made Smith & Ackerman so competent was their versatility. They took on cases no others would, but specialized in neither defense nor prosecution, doing both with equal skill. Erwin in particular was known for taking gutsy moves, and combined Levi's quick wit, they were believed to be the capital's last hope in a city teeming with criminals, crooked cops, and gutless lawyers.

His first impression of Levi was that he was tiny, but that seemed obvious as well as a good way to get fired. Eren wasn't abnormally tall, but Levi was at least a head shorter. He was also incredibly irritable, rude, demanding, and a hilarious contrast to Erwin. Erwin was so devastatingly attractive that Eren nearly swallowed his tongue when they met. Tall, sturdy, with neatly slicked hair, sharp eyes, and a jaw that begged to be sat on (and Eren told himself this self-indulgent train of thought was completely okay because he wasn't quite stupid enough to make moves on people he worked for, under any circumstances), Erwin couldn't have looked more like success if he tried. Eren had to commend Levi on his impeccable taste in suits, and he did have nice eyes even if they _were_ perpetually narrowed in annoyance, but his abrasiveness was such a deterrent that Eren hardly managed working with him and maintaining a straight face.

The most important thing Eren had learned so far was that he spent three years of his life, innumerable hours and pots of coffee, and roughly $97,000 to be a glorified secretary.

"This," he said pleasantly under his breath, "is such shit."

"_This_ is what working at the best law firm in the city as a new grad looks like," Mikasa said serenely, collating and binding a stack of depositions nearly as tall as her.

"I didn't pay $97,000 to sort mail," he sang with forced cheer that bordered on maniacal.

"Shut up and sort your mail."

"Yes, _mom_," he said, just to see her bristle. The heat made him irritable. So did Mikasa's attitude, a lot of the time. In addition to thinking she needed to mother him (seriously, maybe he was underestimating things, but he just didn't think adopting someone was _that_ big of a deal), she was just so damn accepting of whatever came her way, and he was never going to be that way, could _never_ be that way. There were people who needed their help. How could she be content with binding depositions all day?

"Levi said I'll get to take my case to court," Mikasa murmured.

Eren dropped his stack of mail. No wonder she was okay with binding depositions all day.

"You're joking," he said weakly. They were clerking easy cases, doing the legwork to test the waters and prove themselves, and of course Eren's case was complete shit: a seventeen year old with a DUI and fairly rich parents. He wasn't even sure why this was going to court. Breathalyzers didn't lie, but money talked.

Mikasa shrugged, but a small smile curved her lips. "I guess I impressed him?"

Eren sighed, half in admiration and half in exasperation. "I wish I could say the same for myself."

"Jaeger, you won't be saying a damn thing if you don't sort my mail. I don't pay you to gossip with your girlfriend," a peevish voice snapped from the doorway.

Eren jumped and felt his face flush. " She's my sister," he stammered, hurriedly reorganizing the mail into piles and locating Levi's. "Here's your mail, sir."

Levi flipped through his mail and gave Eren an appraising look. From Eren's place on the floor surrounded by a sea of mail, Levi was able to look down on him with those half-narrowed gray eyes, which Eren could tell was something Levi liked doing. "Hey, maybe someday you, too, can argue shitty cases in court," he shrugged.

Once Levi was a safe distance away, Eren buried his head in his hands and let out a quiet groan. "Why do I get the feeling he's mocking me," he said, voice muffled.

"You make it too easy for people," Mikasa chided. "I'm going home after I drop all these off. Don't forget to pick up the wine for dinner." She scooped up her tower of bound documents and flipped off the light with her elbow.

From his spot in the dark, he made a face at her back from his own frustration.

Back at his desk, Eren went over what he knew about his shitty case. Connie Springer was seventeen and had just moved to the city from the middle of nowhere a year ago, after his father got a very lucrative job offer. (Eren failed to see why knowing this was necessary.) Apparently he was a bit of a partier, nothing crazier than how Eren himself spent his teenage years, and this was his first alcohol charge, but he had a string of vandalism charges from his hometown of Ragako. (Eren was particularly interested in the part where young Connie apparently blew up a disused barn and managed not to get convicted.) The case was the same as countless others: Connie was drunk, crashed his Mercedes into a guard rail on the freeway, and was nailed with a DUI when a police officer sopped to check for injuries and noticed that the guy smelled like a distillery.

It was the same everywhere. Kid fucks up, parental figure waves money around, case dismissed.

It was half past six and Eren didn't get overtime pay, so he figured his throwaway case could wait until next Monday and he could get the hell out of here. He was sweaty, irritated, hungry, and seriously regretting this weekly tradition of dinner that he, Mikasa, and Armin had started in their last week of law school. It had only made sense that Annie was absorbed into the group when they started working together, but he was in no mood to socialize with people that were practically family, let alone someone who was still half a stranger.

A hand on his shoulder startled him and he clicked out of all his open documents. "You can go home now, Eren," Petra smiled at him. "We're the last two out, I think."

He smiled a bit tighter than he would have liked. "Just doing some research for my case, Ms. Ral."

Petra always looked charmingly delighted to be called Ms. Ral. It made Eren like her. "How do you like working here so far?"

_Ah, shit._ "Well," he said slowly, logging off the computer and gathering his things to buy some time.

"It's not what you expected, is it?" she asked with a conspiratorial smile, pulling her auburn hair into a twist.

His eyes went wide. "I wouldn't say that," he hedged. "Or I wouldn't say it's a _bad_ thing."

Petra laughed lightly, pushing the elevator buttons as they stepped inside. "It's okay, I understand. I was kind of surprised, too. Of course I'd heard all about Erwin and Levi, but I had no idea what to expect. I guess the truth is Erwin is far kinder than people would think, based on how he is in the courtroom." She blushed very faintly. _Interesting_, Eren thought, filing that away for later. "And, well, I guess the truth is Levi's a lot crankier. But you want to know my theory?"

"What's that?"

"I think he's cranky because he's short."

Eren stared at her. "Uh…what?"

She smiled again, hazel eyes crinkling at the corners. "Don't misunderstand me, I think he's certainly higher strung than people expect. But think about it; he's noticeably short for a man. If you had to live with that, what do you think your options would be?"

Eren leaned his head against the wall of the elevator, relishing the cool metal against his skin. "Invest in elevator shoes…or deliberately become a hard person so people take you seriously."

"Exactly," she said with satisfaction. "He really does have a good heart, I think. But I think he's afraid people won't take him seriously. _You_ know, you're a guy. Size is _so_ important to men. Take care now," she winked at him, leaving him sputtering and scrambling to get out of the elevator before the doors crushed him.

_A good heart, huh? _ Eren ruminated as he slipped through the turnstile at the train station. A hot, humid wind that smelled strongly of gasoline drifted up through the grid of the platform. Eren pushed his headphones into his ears and let the heady bass line wash over him as he lit a cigarette and leaned against the cool concrete pillar. He could imagine his mother yanking his ear and giving him hell, but it wasn't called a vice for no reason. He inhaled deeply and mulled over Petra's words. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing good about Levi except his intelligence. He flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette and texted Mikasa with one hand. _what kind of wine?_

His phone buzzed in his hand. _I don't know, chardonnay? I'm making sangria. _Buzz. _Go to the corner store on Fourteenth and McIntyre, they're cheaper. _Buzz. _And the manager at that other place gives me the creeps._

Eren smiled slightly. Some things—like Mikasa's tendency to hit the send button instead of the enter button—never changed. Neither, apparently, did his evening commute. The platform was packed, and Eren grimaced slightly. The only saving grace was that the train ran on electricity and wouldn't wait on lingering people to get on or off the train, but it was at times like this that he really questioned Mikasa's insistence to live all the way out in Maria Park. Sure, it was a nice neighborhood—quiet, bordered by a beautiful park, full of young families, but the tradeoff was that neither of them could afford to live alone and the commute was 45 minutes on a good day. He'd succumbed to Armin's endless nagging and pleading eyes and had finally managed to train himself to be able to read on the train without throwing up, so he was slowly working his way through the ever-growing pile of books Armin kept leaving in his apartment in strange places. His current read was found in the linen closet in the bathroom. Armin was so fucking strange.

He spent more of his time leaning against the swaying window and watching the city swoop by. The flatness of the city meant that the elevated tracks often passed so close to buildings that one could almost brush them with outstretched fingers. For months it had made him equal parts nauseous and nervous, but even four years after moving to the city, it thrilled him. The view, the pace, the fact that it got all four seasons—nothing was old, yet. He hoped he never got jaded. It was just so different from Shiganshina, which, while very beautiful and right near the mountains, was unbearably hot and humid in the summer, didn't have much of a winter to speak of, and whose citizens were depressingly, crushingly narrowminded.

The train creaked into the station and Eren darted ahead in hopes of not having to stand up the whole way. In no mood to read, he kept the volume of his music just quiet enough that he could hear the bell of the train, and he closed his eyes, trying to shut out noise, color, and thought. At the corner store he bought two bottles of mid-priced chardonnay and trudged up three flights of stairs half an hour late to his own party. _It's fashionable, _he told himself.

He heard laughter coming from the minuscule balcony and noticed a pitcher with smashed fruit in the bottom. Rummaging in the drawer for a corkscrew, he painstakingly twisted it into the top of the bottle. Mikasa was far better at it; he always got too aggressive and ended up breaking the cork into bits that had to be fished out later. With a grunt he wrenched the cork (in one piece) from the bottle and grinned. Mikasa slid the screen door shut behind her. "Oh good, you're home. And you didn't break the cork."

"It's a trophy," he joked, "we should keep it."

She twisted the cork from the screw and rolled it around in her fingers. "Pour that into the pitcher," she waved. "Actually, I could keep it. I saw something on Pinterest; someone had made a wreath out of corks and it was really cute. And you can stick notes to it."

"And we can advertise to all our neighbors how much we drink."

"Not so," Armin said as he came in the kitchen. "You can buy corks in bags at craft stores, but they're kind of passé."

Eren stared at him. "Why do you know that?"

Armin shrugged, unruffled. "It's good to know these things."

Annie snorted from the doorway. "Hey, Eren. I brought strawberry pie."

"She made it herself," Mikasa stage whispered.

Eren had a hard time getting a grasp on Annie. She seemed perpetually disinterested in everything—not in the put-on way that Levi was; she genuinely seemed like she didn't give a fuck. At first it seemed like she and Mikasa might come to blows since Annie evidently had a higher GPA by the tiniest amount (and seriously, who cared, they had already graduated and had provisional jobs), but since they weren't working under the same people, Mikasa had decided she was okay. Armin had taken to her almost immediately, but Armin wasn't the best bellwether for other people; he liked nearly everyone on intuition.

The thing that got Eren's goat was that they knew essentially nothing about Annie and she was amazingly unforthcoming about herself.

"—en. Eren. _Eren_!"

"Aaah, what?" Eren jumped a little.

"_I said_, Armin brought salad, the sangria is ready, and I already made those tomato pesto roll things you like, so can you grill the chicken, please?" Mikasa asked.

"Yeah. Wait, no. I'm going to change first." He had realized, dimly, that he was still holding his suit jacket in his hand. He turned and ducked into his bedroom before Mikasa could ask if he was feeling okay. Tossing his work clothes haphazardly in the general direction of his laundry basket, he grabbed the first clean shirt and shorts that kind-of matched and headed back out.

"Swan Song, nice," Annie said, nodding in his direction.

He smoothed the Led Zeppelin shirt down with one hand and grabbed the bag of marinated chicken from the fridge. "Yeah, I actually vastly prefer everything they released before they left Atlantic, but it makes for a cool shirt."

"Favorite song?"

He made a face. "Just one? Ah, god… The Rain Song," he threw up his free hand. "It's my forever song"

Annie nodded. "Good choice."

"Do you have a favorite? Don't say Stairway to Heaven, I'll be forced to stab you."

She cracked a small smirk at that. "Nah. Don't get me wrong, it's cool, but overdone. Like people who say their favorite Eagles song is Hotel California."

"Oh, no, don't get Eren started on Hotel California," Armin warned, "we'll be here all night."

"Hm, well, I guess my favorite Led Zep song is The Song Remains the Same."

"Really?" Eren was intrigued. It was a good song, but not one he usually heard quoted as someone's favorite.

Annie shrugged, running her finger through the condensation on her beer bottle contemplatively. "Reminds me of good things."

Well, Eren couldn't argue with that, and he'd now heard Annie talk more than he had the entire time they'd been working together. He headed out the back door with a plate and tongs in one hand and chicken in the other. Setting the former down, he fiddled with the matches someone had already set out. "Thank you to whoever put charcoal and lighter fluid in the grill," he called out, dropping a match into the grill and scooting back as the flames caught.

"I'm waiting for the day you blow your eyebrows off," Armin said with a smile. "You should get one of those long lighter things."

No way," he snorted, "they're like, ten bucks."

He set the chicken on the grill and leaned back on his heels, accepting a glass of sangria from Mikasa and watching the chicken sizzle. The conversation carried on without him, but he was content to listen. "So," Armin started, "how's everyone's cases going?"

"Eh," Annie shrugged, "could be worse. It's a lot of work, but at least it's meaningful."

"I spent half my goddamn day sorting mail," Eren complained loudly.

"I get to take mine to court," Mikasa said, a little bit smugly.

"What? No way, that's so cool!" Armin said in awe. "You must have really impressed Levi."

Eren made a face to the chicken.

Mikasa smirked. "I guess so. I wasn't trying to, honestly. I don't see what the big deal is with him. Or Erwin, actually."

Even Eren turned his head for that.

"But they're the best lawyers in the city," Armin said slowly. "We, like, busted our asses all of last year and didn't sleep for months so we could get these jobs."

"I never said I was unhappy with the job. I just don't think either of them are gods. They're just humans. They're just _men_."

Annie actually let out a laugh, which stunned them. Her face was transformed when she smiled and Eren immediately thought she should do it more often; her eyes didn't look so cold and her face flooded with unexpected color. "Hear, hear," she grinned, clinking her bottle against Mikasa's glass.

"Well, what_ is_ your case Mikasa?" Armin asked.

"Isn't that illegal?" Eren cut in. "Or talk about it, whatever, eliminate yourselves from the running. God knows it can only help me."

Mikasa winced slightly. "Two thrilling words: tax evasion."

"Wasn't that always your weak point?" Eren asked. "I'm impressed you've done well enough to impress Sourpuss Levi."

"Ah, mine's money, too—an embezzling priest who was using parish money to buy prostitutes," Armin said.

"Murder case," Annie said as if she were announcing the weather. Armin dropped his fork and even Mikasa choked on her drink.

"What the fuck, why does everyone else get a real case but me?" Eren grumbled. "All I have is a shitty DUI that a dumbass teenager won't even get convicted for. He's had, like, half a dozen charges that have all gotten thrown out, and he's a minor."

"Well," Mikasa said, "it sounds like it's a good opportunity for you to take a look at the past cases and figure out _why_ he's gotten them dismissed, so you can exploit it. Prosecuting, right? This is probably why Levi gave you the case. You're not patient, so this will be good for you."

"Ugh, whatever, _mom_," he said defiantly, serving chicken on everyone's plate and finally—blessedly—taking a seat.

"Should we feel bad for like, bragging about other people's comparative miseries?" Armin asked. Not for the first time, Eren thought that if he had much of a conscience, it would sound like Armin.

"Nah," Mikasa said immediately. "We're not _happy _that these people are in these positions."

"But if they weren't in these position, we wouldn't have jobs," Annie added.

Eren raised his glass mockingly. "A toast to miscreants everywhere."

The sound of clinging glass rang out through the dusky summer haze.

* * *

><p>I'm thinking of doing updates on Wednesdays and Sundays-that way nobody's waiting too long and it forces me to stay on some kind of schedule.<p>

Are you guys liking this? Are you guys even reading this? I genuinely don't write for recognition and am going to see this story to its conclusion even if the only people reading it are me and the ghost that lives in my apartment, but if you have the slightest feedback (even if it's to tell me I'm a talentless sack of flour and this idea is terrible), I would welcome it.

Next time on the lawyer hell channel: Eren has a breakthrough. Levi has a breakdown.


	4. Eren and Levi

Eren had spent the entirety of Saturday and Sunday with every single court document, report card, test score, medical examination, and instant messenger username list (he had no idea _how _this could possibly be relevant) pertaining to Connie Springer spread out over the better part of the kitchen table. He flipped one pen between the fingers of his left hand, another clenched between his teeth, another jammed behind his ear.

"You know those are supposed to stay in the office, right?" Mikasa asked. He looked up. She was pulling her long hair into a ponytail, her running shoes balanced between her knees.

He pulled the pen from his teeth. "So I'll sneak in early on Monday and put them back in my desk and nobody has to know."

"You don't have a key," she said in her trademark _my brother is a brainless idiot _voice.

He hadn't actually thought of that, but wouldn't give her the satisfaction. "Ms. Ral will let me in, I'll bet. I think she likes me."

"Like in a creepy way or a congenial way?" Mikasa sat next to him to lace up her shoes.

Eren laughed and stretched like a cat, reaching his arms over the table until he felt his spine pop. "Like in a normal way. She treated me to some surprising but pleasant shit-talking about Levi in the elevator on Friday."

Mikasa's gray eyes were supremely unimpressed. "Are you trying to get yourself fired?"

"Of course not." He turned back to his notes. "I just refuse to lick his feet."

"There's a pretty big difference between not licking someone's feet and coming just this side of being an asshole."

He made a face at her. "Says you, who not two days ago sat here and said 'oh, he's just a _man_,'" he said in an unflattering falsetto that didn't sound like her at all.

She slugged him in the arm. "That's not what I meant. You know there's a certain degree of ass-kissing in the professional world. But like, you don't even seem to _like _him. Last year, you were all 'Levi Ackerman' this and 'Levi Ackerman' that, and now you look like you're going to blow an artery every time you're in the same room with him."

"I liked him until I found out he was so goddam unlikable," Eren complained loudly. "He's so grouchy and unapproachable and annoying. I actually _wish_ he was conceited so that I could have another reason to dislike him. I mean, sure, he's fairly good-looking—" "Eren!" "—but it's totally ruined by the fact that his personality is _so terrible, oh my god. _I mean, Erwin brings us doughnuts. Doughnuts! What kind of boss does that?"

Mikasa smiled slyly. "Actually, when I worked at the tourist bureau in undergrad, Jean brought in doughnuts all the time."

Eren's displeased face returned. "That's because he's in love with you! Actually, wait. If Erwin bringing in doughnuts is a sign of his love for me, bring it the fuck on. I could learn to live with that."

Mikasa groaned. "You are so gross and hopeless." He cackled. "Tell me you won't actually sleep with either of your bosses."

"Oh, I'm not planning on it," he said soberly. "In fact, the reason I've been spending my weekend doing some of the most miserable work imaginable is so that tomorrow I can prove to Levi that I deserve better than this."

"Eren…" Mikasa said warningly.

"Hear me out," he held up a hand. "First I'm going to blow this one out of the water and dazzle him with my intellect and poise." He ignored his sister's snort. "Then I'm going to ask him for something better."

"But you've taken two weeks on this one and have basically discovered nothing."

He rubbed at the spot between his eyes. "That's because this case isn't worth my _time,_" he sighed. "All around the world there are so many important things happening and I'm saddled with some shit with a DUI, really?"

He expected Mikasa to shame him—she was amazingly good at it—but instead she sighed, putting her chin in her hand. He looked up at her finally; she was watching him with an expression he couldn't read. Shame burned in his stomach even though she hadn't said a word. He hated the feeling that she was trying to weigh whether or not it was worth her time to speak. She reached over and brushed his hair from his eyes with cool fingers. "I would have agreed with you, once." He blinked in surprise. "The world is a cruel place, and why should we waste time on people who don't help themselves? Why waste time on DUIs when there's a serial killer in the city? But," she shrugged, "it's also a beautiful place."

"Meaning…?"

"That just because _you _don't find this case important doesn't mean it _isn't_ important," she said calmly. "Do the dishes, please."

He dropped his head to the table and groaned. Why was it his fate to be surrounded by moral relativists?

The next afternoon he sat at his desk and counted the minutes. His tie was mostly straight, his hair was mostly beat back into submission, and he had half a dozen copies of his summary lest, heaven forbid, he managed to lose one between his desk and Levi's office. Petra had covered for him, placated by the double-chocolate cherry latte he'd brought her, and had stuffed the court doc copies he'd made into the shredder with a wink. He cracked his knuckles and rose to his feet unsteadily as Levi barked out, "Jaeger!"

Levi was contemplating the contents of his teacup; he held out his hand automatically for the copy of the memo in Eren's hand. He gestured to the chair in front of him. "Have a seat."

Eren sank down with controlled slowness. He wasn't sure if the burning under his skin was due to nervousness or the fact that Levi's office was an oven. He pressed himself a little firmer against the leather, aching for the feeling of coolness against his skin.

"Well, Jaeger? What are your conclusions?" Levi asked, expression carefully neutral.

Eren's heart thudded painfully, making his ears ring. His fingers twisted together, and he dug his nails into his skin to remind himself that he had this worked out. He had finesse for once in his life, damn it. "I think the case is shit," he blurted out, immediately clapping a hand over his mouth. "I mean, oh fuck." He dropped his hand, taking a deep breath. _Ah, to hell with it_. "Actually, no, that's exactly what I mean. I've worked out a plausible course of action, but it was motivated by my firm belief that this case is complete shit. Sir," he tacked on. He wasn't above being aggressively polite if it would keep his ass employed.

Levi had one eyebrow raised. "Do go on," he said dryly.

Eren cleared his throat. "I looked at Connie Springer's past charges," he said, gesturing to the memo he'd given Levi, who obligingly tried to angle it in such a way that he could read it, clearly failing. _I hear there are these great twelfth century inventions called reading glasses; you can even get them at the nearest gas station_, Eren thought spitefully. The sudden sarcasm made him feel much better. "In all of his past cases—believe me, it's damn impressive—there are two similarities: his mother always blames his actions on ADHD, and his father always whips out his checkbook. And boom: charges dropped, case dismissed."

"And?"

"At first I didn't think it was relevant to learn he had just moved from Ragako a year ago, but I think his mother will try to use it, kind of like 'we just moved here and he's acting out and the move has really exacerbated his ADHD.' But there are two pretty big holes with this. One, a year is a pretty long time for a teenager, and I think most people would have reasonably adjusted by then. Two, and more concretely, he has some incredibly good grades for a kid with ADHD."

"How do you know the parents aren't greasing the teachers' pockets?" Levi asked sharply.

_He's fast_, Eren thought with grudging admiration. "Because he goes to St. Klorva's Academy," Eren fired back, quoting the name of the most prestigious school in the city. "You don't have to be wealthy to go there, but you do have to be dead smart. Didn't you hear? They rejected the president's daughter's application last year. She was trying to get into their high school program, but she only had like a 140 on her test scores. St. Klorva's average is like, 177."

"So it's possible that the Springers have greased the palms of a doctor along the way, or else they really do believe their son has ADHD, in lieu of accepting he's just a shitty kid," Levi murmured. "Not important to this scenario necessarily. This should be good enough. So, you wanna take this thing to court, or what?"

Eren's elbow slipped off the armrest. "Can I?"

Levi rolled his eyes. "Assuming you don't piss yourself, yes, I suppose you can. Your research was better than I expected, and I think if you overemphasize the part where he—" Levi squinted at the page—"blew up a barn…? Christ. Okay. If you overemphasize THAT, plus the cocaine-and-hookers fiasco that was his sixteenth birthday party, you should successfully convince the judge he's a menace to society. Not bad, Jaeger."

Though his mind told him to continue looking at Levi with total dispassion, Eren grinned, feeling his face flush. "Thank you, sir. But I do have a question. Why were you so bent on, as you put it, 'burying' him?"

Levi regarded him, silvery eyes less narrowed than usual. "It doesn't really have anything to do with him or his family," he said nonchalantly. "I don't care if he has a DUI or if he murdered the president while doing the Mexican hat dance. Frankly, I think it's dangerous when people don't follow through the natural consequences of his actions, and by preventing him from doing so, his parents clearly haven't done him any favors." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Just do what you can."

Eren had the feeling the meeting was about to end. "What should I do now?"

Levi frowned at him. "What the hell do you think? Go make sure your statements are absolutely perfect, pull out all the stops, et cetera."

"Wait…you mean that's it?"

Levi's eyes narrowed. "Were you expecting something else?"

Eren balled his fists and jutted his chin, steeling himself and knowing in advance it was a tremendous mistake. Probably. "Sir, I want a real case."

Levi snorted. "I'm pretty sure Connie Springer isn't imaginary."

"That's not what I meant," Eren said. "I meant… I meant. There are—there _have_ to be—cases that are meaningful. Something where I can make an impact where—"

"Let me stop you right there, because if you're one of the doe-eyed brats who entered the legal profession thinking you're going to change the world, you should probably stop. Not that you _couldn't_ change the world, but I really wouldn't count on it," Levi said dryly.

"That's not what I meant, either."

"Then what did you mean?"

Eren felt heady, reckless, angry. "Quit fucking insulting me and give me something that's a little more challenging than the pro bono work I did as a first-year."

Levi's eyebrows arched high. "What the fuck makes you think you're qualified?"

Eren cocked his head. "What makes you think I'm not?"

Levi sat perfectly still for several seconds and let out a harsh bark of a laugh that startled Eren. "Jaeger, you are undoubtedly the most spoiled and self-entitled shitty brat I've ever hired. You want something harder? Fine." He stood and crossed to one of the file cabinets, rummaging til he yanked out a portfolio held together with rubber bands and several satanic sacrifices. He came toe to toe with Eren and shoved the portfolio into Eren's chest with enough force that it took substantial willpower not to stagger backwards.

He hadn't expected the shorter man to be so strong. This close to Levi, he could smell the man—orange peel and mild soap. He had a very faint blush on his cheeks, whether from heat or anger Eren couldn't tell, but it definitely improved his pale complexion. His eyes were liquid silver and impossibly narrowed.

"This is Nicholas Lobov. This is your case and you're taking it to court. You have two options," Levi said, his voice very low and silky.

"And they are?" Eren asked.

Levi smiled in a very dangerous way. "Bury him alive, or you're out on your ass. Now," he said, voice dropping another degree, "_Get. Out. Of my office._"

Eren dropped the file on his desk and sat, forcing himself to breathe deeply and evenly. His heart pounded fiercely and his head swam.

"Um. Eren? Why are you grinning like that?" Armin asked, looking over at him with a concerned look on his face."

"No reason," he replied quickly.

"Well, cut it out, you look like a criminal," Armin shuddered.

Eren managed to work his maniacal grin into a self-satisfied smirk. He had argued with Levi and won. He hadn't gotten fired. And perhaps sweetest of all—he'd managed to rattle that infuriating man.

Much, much later that night, he would realize that there was something distinctly alluring about an enraged Levi, bury his face in his pillow, and groan.

Erwin knocked on Levi's door not ten minutes later. "I heard anger," he said, holding out a cup of mint tea.

Levi's teeth were clenched so hard his jaw was beginning to ache. "I hate Eren Jaeger," he hissed, loosening his jaw enough to swallow a mouthful of tea.

Erwin made himself at home in the chair across from his desk. Levi was regretting that chair. Having a chair encouraged people to loiter. It encouraged people to think their loitering was something nicer and less noxious than loitering. Then again, even if Erwin knew he was loitering, Levi knew he wouldn't care. He crossed his legs and leaned back, oversized frame looking ridiculous in the minimalistic chair. "Well, go on."

Levi scowled. "I'm not sure how, but I'm pretty sure this is partially your fault. You just _had _to give your underlings better cases than I gave mine."

"That's because I don't make a habit of underestimating people."

"I was trying to be considerate," he grumbled. "I thought they'd appreciate something relatively easy before shit hits the fan, but _noooo, _you just had to go and give the Aryan Brotherhood soul-crushing cases, and they had to brag about it, and Jaeger had to get a big head."

"Aryan Brotherhood? That's rather offensive."

"You're all so…_blonde,_" Levi retorted, in the same tone of voice he might have used to say 'unclean' or 'obnoxious.'

"Are you quite certain Eren wouldn't have gotten a big head anyway?" Erwin asked mildly.

Levi's head snapped up. "Oh, my god, you're enjoying this," he said hollowly.

"Enjoying you being challenged? Me? Enjoying it? No," Erwin smiled coyly. "In all seriousness," he raised a placating hand, "do I think Eren should be insubordinate? No. Do I think you underestimated him and now you're paying for it? Absolutely. I think he ought to learn—and I'm sure you'll agree—that not every case is going to be glamorous or consequential. But _you_ ought to learn—and here you won't agree—that discrediting people based on whatever bizarre criterion you invent is, frankly, a terrible idea, and I'm saying this as someone who is technically your boss," he said sternly. "But why did you? You didn't seem to treat Mikasa the same way."

Levi was reminded yet again that his tendency not to remember (or was it a tendency to willfully refuse to memorize?) the names of people who worked for him was probably not charming in the slightest. His mouth twisted in irritation. "Because," he said in a pinched voice, "he reminds me of someone I once knew who wouldn't know the word 'limitation' if it kicked her in the ass, and…well." He shrugged.

A sharp light glinted in Erwin's eyes. "You're talking about Isabel, aren't you?"

Levi had picked an incredibly bad time to take a sip of tea. Sputtering painfully, he rubbed his chest. "How the fuck do you know about her?" he wheezed, pounding on his ribs.

Erwin looked away guiltily. "Um."

"It was Hanji, wasn't it." He said flatly. "How much did he tell you."

"Not much, really," Erwin conceded. "Hanji was just talking about how part of—I quote—'Levi got to be so damn disagreeable' was because you lost two people close to you, and the names were mentioned, but that's it. I think even motormouthed Hanji knows it's your story to tell alone."

Levi's stomach unclenched minutely in relief. "Good, I don't have to indiscriminately go around murdering all the people who've annoyed me today."

Erwin chuckled. "Interesting how the simple act of people caring about you annoys you so much."

Levi worked up an impressive glare, but was cut off by his phone buzzing against his leg. "Short Stuff! I have good news and bad news, what do you want first?" Hanji asked at an earsplitting volume.

"_Inside voices, _you bespectacled catastrophe," Levi snapped, pulling the phone several inches away from his ear. "Good news first. Hell, come up with good news last. Make it a good news sandwich." _God knows I need it._

"Good news: we cracked the cipher found with Mina Carolina's body. Bad news: as far as we can tell, it has absolutely nothing to do with any of the other cases." Levi winced; he was really counting on it being similar to the others so that it would make it easier to get Bertholdt Hoover off the hook—he already had solid alibis for all the other murders. "There _is _actually another good piece of news, now that you mention it. Someone turned in a piece of paper that appears to be related to all of this, somehow. We're still working on it—it's written in this crazy shorthand you wouldn't believe, and it's clear it doesn't translate to English _and _it's in a cipher, but you should come see it anyway!"

Hanji would have continued prattling on for probably several sunlit days, but Levi suddenly remembered that Erwin was still in the room, and, judging by the look on his face, had heard everything. "Thanks, Four Eyes. I'll be in touch." He shut the phone off before Hanji could edge in another word and crossed his arms, meeting Erwin's steady gaze.

"You realize we're lawyers, not police detectives, right?" Erwin asked after a beat.

"Yep."

"Then why are you…? This goes deeper than that Hoover kid, doesn't it?"

God, why was everyone around him suddenly flexing their intuition? Levi sighed. He'd never been able to lie convincingly to Erwin. Lawyers were like that. Being well-versed in reading body language made it difficult to lie to one another, or perhaps he and Erwin simply knew each other too well. "I don't know yet. Honestly."

Erwin nodded carefully. "Do you think it's him?"

Levi grimaced. "Christ, I hope not."

Erwin nodded again, apparently satisfied. "Well, you'd better get out of here if you're going to make it on time."

Levi stared at him. "Make what?"

The taller man rolled his eyes. "Honestly, don't you read the planner I give you without fail every Christmas that Petra so patiently fills in for you? You have an eye doctor's appointment today because of the headaches you've been getting. It's in an hour, so you should probably get going."

Levi frowned. He felt like an eye doctor's appointment was something he'd remember, since it was something he'd been distinctly avoiding. He pulled the planner out of the side drawer of his desk and flipped through it, cursing under his breath. _If I walk out of there with glasses, I'm firing Petra, _he told himself pettily. He made his way out of the office and down to the car waiting for him in the cool garage. Owning a car in the city was by no means practical, but he figured he'd done his time with years of public transit, could afford to maintain a car and not keep it parked outside, and, best of all, could keep strict control over what came in his car. He could say in absolute faith his car was clean enough to eat off of, though he'd rather die than have food in his car. Not to mention, being able to afford a prime piece of German engineering was just so _satisfying, _even if it made him feel like a yuppie.

At this time of day, his car was made for the largely empty freeways. It hugged the curves nicely, the music neatly blocked out the sound of the engine, and, unlike the case with his office, the air conditioner worked.

Given the state of his day so far, he was completely unsurprised when he got pulled over.

"Was I speeding?" Levi asked in a tone he hoped wasn't insolence.

The officer squinted down at him. "Oh. Hey, Levi. I about didn't see you there," he joked.

Levi fought the urge to groan, though running the man over would have made him happier. Officer Nile was by far his least favorite member of civic society, if for no other reason than because he found Levi's height (or lack thereof) absolutely hilarious. "Hello, Nile. Was I speeding?" he asked again, letting annoyance creep into his voice.

"No, but you did pass someone in a no-pass zone," Nile sighed and shook his head, like he was announcing the worst damn tragedy in the world.

Levi frowned, genuinely confused. "I did? Where's the sign?"

"Back there, at the Stohess exit," Nile pointed.

"When did they put that up?"

"I don't know, a year ago?"

"Really?" If Levi were a lesser man, he'd feel embarrassed. "I didn't, ah. I didn't see it."

"Ah, well, no harm done. Wouldn't have pulled it over if I'd known it was you," Nile winked conspiratorially. It made Levi hate him. "Well, I won't give you a ticket, you have a good record and you look like you're in a hurry. Where are you off to?"

"An eye doctor's appointment," Levi said through gritted teeth, which Nile found hilarious. He thumped the roof of Levi's car twice (_Fuck me I'll kill him if he dented it_) and pulled back out into the freeway, honking a few short blasts. Levi shuddered in annoyance and disgust.

He came into work the next morning fifteen minutes late with a cup of coffee in hand like the perfect cliché of an undergraduate. "Don't say a word," he hissed to Petra, whose brow creased in confusion. "Don't pretend you're not pleased about these." He pointed fiercely to his face, where a new pair of tortoiseshell glasses now sat.

"Um…they look nice on you, but I don't understand why you're upset?" Petra asked cautiously.

"Oh, for fucking—my conscience sounds like you!" he groaned, slamming his office door so the glass rattled.


	5. Levi (3)

Levi's phone rang with extra ferocity, and he snatched it up, frowning at the number—the extension belonged to the city jail. "Ackerman speaking."

"Mr. Ackerman? This is Bertholdt Hoover."

Levi's eyebrows shot up. "Mr. Hoover! I was due to pay you a visit this afternoon. What can I do for you? How'd you get to use the phone?"

The man on the other end gave a nervous laugh. "About that…this morning when I woke up, it seems my bail had been paid."

Levi's thoughts ran incredulous. He was pretty sure Hoover wasn't eligible for bail, but it seemed the prosecution wasn't seeking the death penalty after all. His stomach unclenched the tiniest amount. "Well," he said slowly. "I suppose that means you can meet me in my office this afternoon, in lieu of me going down there."

"Ah…" A pause. "I have to do a couple things, like pay Reiner back for a lot of rent, and see if I still have a job, and possibly apply for a new one… is there any possible way I could come in tomorrow instead?"

It wasn't ideal, and, childishly, Levi was half-tempted to say no. He caught sight of the sticky note on the lid of his laptop reminding him to pay Hanji a visit, something he'd neglected to do after his ill-fated trip to the eye doctor, and sighed, penciling Hoover in for 2:00. "One more thing," Levi said, suddenly remembering exactly how astronomical Hoover's bail would have been. "Who paid your bail, if you don't mind my asking?" Hoover had made it known, in very subtle tones and with no little amount of blushing, that he was barely able to pay Levi's fees, so Levi was fairly confident that he wouldn't have been able to pay bail.

"Oh, um, they didn't say! An anonymous source, apparently. Good luck, am I right?"

Levi's stomach clenched back up.

With lightning fingers he dialed the jail's administrative desk and filled them in on who he was and what he wanted. The incredibly bored-sounding, gum-chewing man on the other line grunted at him. "I'm telling you, that's exactly what it says. Anonymous money transfer."

"But it _can't _be an anonymous money transfer," Levi said in exasperation, "do you know what year it is?"

"Don't get salty with me, _sir,_ I'm telling you that it was a money transfer done in cash this morning from a Western Union on the south side. If you want to go down there to see if they have security cameras and a good memory, then hey, whatever fills your toilet, but don't expect me to do it. I don't get paid enough to do _this _job, let alone play amateur detective." He slammed the phone down with a force that Levi considered unnecessary.

Someone—probably Petra—knocked on the door sharply and opened without waiting for an answer. "I brought you some tea," she said cheerily.

"Thank you," he groaned, still squeezing the skin between his eyes.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?" She asked, concerned.

He raised his head to look at her. She'd done some new thing to her hair, changed her usual lipstick color, and was wearing a cute yellow dress he had never seen before. In short, she looked far too pretty and cheerful considering it was a morning. "My murder suspect had his bail posted by an anonymous source."

Petra frowned. "Anonymous? You can't sneeze on a street corner anonymously anymore."

He raised his hands. "Thank you! I'm so glad someone else appreciates that anonymity doesn't exist, but apparently it does, and I have to go all the way down to a Western Union in the fucking hood to find out if they have cameras."

Petra shrugged. "Send an underling."

"I'm surprised, Petra. Normally you're so protective of them."

She smiled wickedly. "But they don't pay my salary, do they?"

He nodded. "Smart woman. I'll send Jaeger. It'll be payback for how badly he pissed me off yesterday." Petra's face slipped an almost undetectable degree. "And the fact that you favor him is all the more reason for him to go," Levi crowed with a self-satisfied smile. Petra stomped out muttering to herself. He sipped his tea calmly. He always felt a little better after tormenting people.

He ducked out at lunch to pay the city crime lab a visit. Hanji ambushed him as soon as he walked in the door, arms flailing. "You drive like a gangster, did you know?" they said, nearly knocking Levi down. "It's kind of terrifying."

He grasped them by the arms. "Thank you!" he grinned wickedly.

"And I like your glasses!"

He released them abruptly. "Shush. They are not to be mentioned."

"No, really! They suit you! Aw, you look kind of like a hipster," Hanji cooed, taking Levi's chin in hand to turn him toward the sunny window.

"I will kick you in the goddamn shins," he said pleasantly, pulling out of their grasp. "Petra scheduled an appointment for me without me knowing about it."

"Your headaches, probably," Hanji clucked in sympathy. "Well, what do you think of them?"

"Honestly?" He took the offensive plastic frames off and rubbed at his temples and nose. "They kind of hurt. It's like they're heavy or something. And I keep walking into doorframes. It's not very dignified."

Hanji's already enormous eyes grew wider before they threw their head back in a cackle. "Can someone film you? No, really, I'll bet it would be fascinating! I don't remember what adjusting to glasses is like. I think I was born wearing them. Can I study you? See how you take it? It would be for science!"

He grimaced. "No, but you can tell me all about your thrilling discovery and the cipher found with the last body."

Hanji positively glowed. "God, you'll never believe it. The decoded cipher and the anonymous shorthand clusterfuck are actually directly related."

"Hold up," Levi held out a hand, "I'm obligated to ask pretty early on: is there absolutely anything in the cipher that would imply there's going to be another murder?"

"I don't think so?" Hanji asked. Levi fervently wished it didn't sound like a question. "It's hard to explain. Just come with me. Coffee? Tea?" Levi was hauled by his wrist into the darkened recesses of the lab. "I'll spare you from having to be in my office."

"Oh, thank god," Levi sighed, suppressing a shudder.

"Actually, I'm sparing myself; last time you were in there, you threw away my Ned Stark bobblehead," Hanji pouted, pushing Levi in the vague direction of a stool pulled up to a table covered in printouts and copies.

"Task at hand, Four Eyes," Levi broke in. "Besides, it can't be called a bobblehead if it's actually missing a head, but that's not the point, _please _tell me about the goddamn cipher."

Hanji popped the top of a Red Bull can and drank half of it in one go. "Okay, so! If you will kindly feast your eyes on exhibit A—that's the printout with the blue tab—you will see the cipher left with the body of one Ilse Langnar. On its own, thanks to the utter brilliance that is Moblit Berner, we were able to find out that it's written in Old High German."

The only thing that popped up in Levi's mind was a very eloquent _what._ His brows knitted together.

"I know, right? Anyway! You'll never guess what it translates to."

"Then you should just tell me," Levi deadpanned, smirking a little.

"Quit interrupting," Hanji scolded. "It's _Hildebrandsleid._" They presented their finding with jazz hands.

Levi was pretty unsure whether the proclamation was supposed to be the title of something or if Hanji was just very empathetic about it. "Who the fuck is Hildebrand?"

"No, not who, but what. It's the oldest complete work of literature written in Old High German, which, by the way, is the point at which German split off from what would eventually become English. Did you know that if you watch a German movie with the subtitles off, you can actually pick up a lot of it?" Hanji said at such speed that it would have made a lesser man's head spin.

"Did you know that I can speak German at a passable level?" Levi intoned. "Christ, Hanji, how long has it been since you slept?"

With horror, Levi realized they actually needed to _count on their fingers. _"Forty-two hours!" They said cheerfully. Levi had never understood how Hanji was able to work like this; the pair had known each other since undergrad, and Hanji had always done this—work for superhumanly long stretches and sleep for equally long stretches when they were done. What Levi really wanted to know was how Hanji had managed to metabolize the caffeine. After years of drinking coffee and tea, the caffeine didn't give Levi a pick-me-up so much as it kept him from openly falling asleep at his desk. He realized Hanji was still talking.

"So anyway, of course the original _Hildebrandslied _is written in Old High German, and, I'm sure, Mr. Smarty Pants, that _you _can't read it, else you wouldn't have asked _me,_" Hanji said smugly. "But don't feel bad; I can't read it, either. Luckily, in this glorious age of instant info, I was able to find a side-along translation. Please turn to exhibit B, the green-tabbed one."

Levi shuffled the pages obligingly and began to read the highlighted parts. "So," he said slowly, "basically this dude fights his father in battle but neither of them realizes that they're fighting their immediate family?"

"Au contraire! Evidently, Hadubrand—let's just call him Big H—knew that he was Little H's father, and knew that he either had to kill his son or be killed by him since they were on opposite sides of the war. The bad part is that the verse ends abruptly. It literally just says they broke each other's shields. But, if you will please note _my _notes at the bottom of the page, you'll see that this work is referenced in later literature, and it seems that Big H does indeed kill his son."

"What happens to Big H?" Levi asked obligingly.

Hanji shrugged. "Some works say that he was mortally wounded in the battle. Some say he became a king. The better question is—why didn't Little H know his own father? And there seem to be two possible answers to this. The first answer is that Big H abandoned the family. The second is that Little H ran away from home and didn't recognize his father because of the passage of time, yadda yadda. And in some versions, it gets even darker. And I think this darker version is exactly what is had in mind, if we assume that the 'anonymous' clusterfuck—" Hanji gave Levi a look that was entirely too probing—"and the cipher were written by the same person. I firmly believe that they are. The handwriting matches up with a certainty of ninety-seven percent, and the anonymous clusterfuck, well. Turn to exhibit C, the yellow tabbed one." Hanji's expression was uncharacteristically grave.

Levi didn't bother looking at the copy of the shorthand note he found at Hannes', going straight to the translation instead. The dread in the pit of his stomach had been steadily growing, but it damn near made him shudder now. Hanji had triple-underlined the last translated line: _The scourge of the father is the shame of a son who has forgotten who made him. The son would do well to remember that he will pay._

"You look terrible," Hanji said, their lips pressed tight.

He cleared his throat. "A lot of people have shitty relationships with their fathers."

"Levi!" Hanji threw up their hands. "Did you actually read this? This sounds like a fucking death threat! You may be cranky, but I don't want you to die!"

They looked so aggrieved that Levi cracked a wry smile. "Aw, shucks, Shitty Glasses."

"More importantly, if you know something about this, fucking _tell _someone! One, you could possibly prevent more murders, including your own. Two, isn't there some legal bullshit that could happen if it turns out you knew who the murderer was?"

"Eh, not in this case," Levi shrugged, taking his glasses off to rub at his face tiredly. "That only really works if you actually know for a fact and have found hard evidence. Suspecting your father is a murderer and not saying anything isn't the same thing."

"Why _haven't _you said anything, Levi?" Hanji's tone was bordering on disappointment. "Where is Kenny?"

He looked into their enormous brown eyes steadily. "Will you believe me if I tell you I don't know? I seriously don't know. He hasn't been in the old house for several years now, and I lost track of him."

"Well, he clearly hasn't lost track of _you._"

Levi snorted. "I'm not exactly difficult to find. Being in the newspapers will do that. My paper trail probably stretches halfway to Mars."

"Well, there's no point to denying that you're the source of the anonymous clusterfuck," Hanji said levelly, "so if you can do that bit of investigative work, surely you can start poking around for your dear old dad, hm?"

Levi finally stumbled into his apartment at half past seven. The rest of his afternoon had been a whirlwind of combing over every single piece of information from all the other related murder cases, meeting with a new client, and being too busy and miserable to revel much in the furious glares Eren shot his way when he found out he was going to have to take a field trip to the ghetto to do Levi's bidding. He kicked off his shoes, dropped the keys on the shelf nailed to the wall, and seriously weighed the pros and cons of slumping against the door and just sleeping there. The ache that ripped through his stomach reminded him that even if he felt far from hungry, he still needed to eat.

He changed out of his work clothes and into a ratty t-shirt from his time on the rowing team in undergrad and a pair of shorts. He was so overdue for a trip to the gym or at least a run that he made a face at himself in the bathroom mirror. The contents of his fridge were far from inspiring, and in desperation he hadn't felt since school and total resignation to the heat, he made himself two turkey sandwiches and a salad. He broke one of his own rules and ate on the couch in the laziest possible position, fighting the ingrained urge to turn on the news. _Is there really any news that I want to hear today?_ he thought idly. _Probably not. _

He flopped bonelessly back on the couch after doing the washing-up—that was one rule he refused to break unless deathly ill—and groaned, throwing an arm over his eyes. He let his mind whirl. He hadn't seen his father in the context of father-and-son since shortly before his eighteenth birthday. He came home from school one day during winter finals and found his father gone with a note saying "back soon." Meanwhile, Levi turned eighteen, graduated, and moved halfway across the country for college, everything he felt like salvaging jammed into his mother's shitty hatchback from the seventies. He had everything he needed or wanted from the house and saw no need to go back. That was also the year he met Hanji, Eldo, and Gunther, and so he never had a reason to go back.

It hadn't occurred to him at first to try to keep tabs on his father. Hell, when he was a kid, his father wasn't even dangerous. He was a tough-love kind of man, but Levi never doubted he was cared for. His father would occasionally surprise him with some chewing gum or some of the comics he liked to read when he was about six. He remembered, though, something that his mother had told him after a boy hadn't wanted to play with him simply because of his last name. "You will hear strange things about the Ackermans," his mother had warned, though she was smiling slightly, like she was telling a joke. Later, when he caught wind of some of those strange things himself, he had confronted her with them. That time, her face was deadly serious. "You'll hear that we breed craziness like icicles on a cold day," she'd said bitterly. "You'll hear that we're dangerous, that we've done dangerous things, at least from people who've lived in this town forever. But you'll hear that we're powerful, too. Your grandmother used to joke that there was an Ackerman spark—once you find what your spark is, you'll have no choice but to follow it, and be exceedingly good at it. So it can be a good thing, too. Powerful doesn't mean bad or dangerous. People can be powerfully good, too."

The older Levi got, the less he actually believed that. Especially since he was facing the possibility that one, his father had followed him; two, his father was deeply angry at him (_even though I'm not the one who fucked off with a "be right back" and then never came back, _Levi thought acidly); and three, his father had relentlessly killed half a dozen people in brutal ways and would in all likelihood keep doing it.

Levi rubbed at his face again, letting his exhausted eyes drift shut. He wasn't enough of a gunslinger, old-western type to think, _well, Dad, if you can be powerfully criminal then I can be powerfully good and bring your ass down, stage on_ and all that. This was a city of several million people, and the chances of him being able to lure his father out without falling into a trap (and at this rate, Levi was beginning to think that such a trap might involve being framed for all the murders) were pretty slim.

He fell asleep on the couch and woke up to the insistent buzzing of his phone against the glass of the coffee table. Working the kinks out of his neck with a grunt, he answered. "Ackerman speaking."

"Mr. Ackerman? This is Officer Pixis. I wanted to let you know that we have your client, Bertholdt Hoover, in custody. It's just a precaution, but I'm sure you'll be reasonable about it." His tone was frank and no-nonsense, which were two qualities Levi would have appreciated if he knew what the man was talking about.

"I'm afraid I don't understand."

"Oh, my apologies. Did you not see the eleven o'clock news? There's been another murder."

Levi clicked on the television and got off the phone. The flickering glow of the special broadcast lit up Levi's shadowy apartment, and his knuckles grew whiter and whiter around the remote. After a few minutes, he'd had enough. He flicked the television off, brushed his teeth, and collapsed into bed, mind reeling, trying desperately to follow the threads of whatever the hell was going on.

"Fuck," he whispered to the ceiling.

* * *

><p>Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.<p>

Find me at darlingargent on tumblr.


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